An Animorphs Christmas Carol
by Sarah1281
Summary: It's been a few months since the end of the war and Jake's inability to move on is really worrying people. They do their best to reach out to him but nothing seems to work. Can four spirits help him find his way again?
1. Chapter 1

An Animorphs Christmas Carol

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own Animorphs.

Note: And now for my annual Christmas Carol adaptation. These things are really addictive.

My name is Jake.

I'm seventeen years old so I won't be old enough to enlist for another year and yet somehow I'm probably one of the most experienced soldiers in the country. I'm a veteran of a war that only came to light a few months ago and, according to son, I'm a bona fide American hero. More than that, I'm an _Earth_ hero.

It's strange but even though we're the only species I've heard of that considers ourselves to be part of a subgroup (our nationalities or ethnicities) first and our species second, I still can't quite get myself into that proper species mindset. And, you know, if you can't get the youth to accept it…

And I am young, actually. I'm barely old enough to drive and not old enough to do pretty much anything else. I'm certainly not old enough to kill but it's hard to think back to a time before that.

I'm also, no matter what Marco might think, absolutely fine. So what if I'm not 'living it up' like he is? Even had the war never happened and someone offered me the chance to be a huge celebrity, I never would have accepted. It's just not my scene and never would have been.

And maybe I still live with my parents but most seventeen-year-olds do. Being a 'war hero' shouldn't mean that I'm obligated to get myself emancipated and strike out on my own the minute the war ended.

I keep telling Marco whenever he asks and sometimes when he doesn't but I don't quite think he believes me. When I see him he knows far too much about how I spend my days than he should given that we rarely do see each other. At this point, I'm convinced he's either talking to my parents or spying on me. You'd think that with his newfound celebrity lifestyle he'd have better ways to spend his time but then Marco's never liked to be predictable.

Take right now, for instance. I had gone out for a drive – it's not quite as freeing as flying but it's close – and when I got back I found Marco taking up all the room in the driveway. His car's not that big and I'm pretty sure he knows how to park better (not completely sure because I remember his first faltering attempts at driving) so it's probably intentional. I choose not to comment on it like he so clearly wants me to and just park on the street instead.

"Marco," I said civilly.

He waited patiently for a moment, then sighed as it was clear I'm not going to give him the reaction he wants. "Merry Christmas, Jake!"

"It's not Christmas until tomorrow," I pointed out.

Marco brightened. "What's that? I should tell you Merry Christmas in person tomorrow? Well, if you insi-"

"That wasn't what I meant," I cut him off. "Today is fine, really."

"It's really no trouble," he assured me.

"It might be a little," I countered.

"Seriously, Jake, you and your parents should come over to my place for Christmas dinner," Marco told me. "And by 'dinner' I actually mean 'lunch' but since it's Christmas we'll probably end up just having one big meal around two or so and then a snack later in the evening. It's what we did for Thanksgiving, after all."

"Sounds fun," I said noncommittally.

"Come on, Jake, it's our first Christmas since the war ended," Marco said imploringly.

Our first Christmas since Rachel died. Since Tom died. Since Tobias left. And even before that the last three Christmases were spent with the knowledge that the brother celebrating with us was a Yeerk slave hell-bent on destroying us. I mean, it was hard every day but some days, days that were supposed to be about family and good will towards all, were worse.

Last Christmas, Marco brought mistletoe to the barn to try and embarrass me and Cassie (Cassie. When was the last time I called her? I really should…). We managed to avoid it after the first surprise – not that I minded that much – but when Marco turned his sights on Rachel he was in for a surprise. Rather than getting embarrassed, of course, Rachel took it as a challenge and she and Tobias hadn't come up for air for quite awhile. Marco was left to try and explain the purpose to Ax and a good time was had by all.

It's strange how the war could have been so much happier than the end of it.

"Jake," Marco said again.

I started. What had he said?

Marco sighed again. "I asked if you and you parents wanted to come have Christmas with my family."

I shook my head. "I don't think so."

Normally Marco would have left it at that but I guess he was really worried or particularly excited about the prospect of spending Christmas with me because he kept staring at me. "And why not?"

Why not? It was so hard to put into words what I was feeling. Maybe it was Grinch-like but I just didn't want to deal with Christmas at all. I didn't want to deal with _anything _at all these days but certainly not something that was supposed to be so magical.

"I just want this to be a family thing," I said finally.

Marco went for a joke. "And we're not family?"

"No."

Marco looked hurt for a second before covering it up. "Oh, I see how it is. Well, if you change your mind then the offer's still good."

"I'll keep that in mind," I promised.

We stood there in awkward silence for a moment before Marco started to walk back to his car. "Take care of yourself, Jake."

"You, too," I responded perfunctorily.

With that, he waved at me and drove off. I thought about moving my car into the driveway but decided against it.

Marco and I never seemed to have much to say to each other anymore. Or at least I didn't. Marco, I firmly believe, can have an animated conversation with a brick wall. Things had been different before, I remembered. Once we'd been at a place where we could spend all day talking about whether cheese tasted green. It had been such a horrible waste of time but it had been the most fun I'd had that week.

I wasn't sure why Marco bothered anymore since it always turned out the same but I could see why he spent his time spying instead of putting himself through trying to actually have a conversation.

I went inside and saw my dad setting the table for dinner while my mom stirred pasta on the stove.

"Jake, excellent timing," my mom said. "Steve, grab an extra plate."

"Was that Marco's car I saw outside?" my dad asked as he did as requested.

I nodded. "Yeah. He stopped by to invite us to go over to his place tomorrow."

My parents looked hopeful.

"And?" my mom prompted.

I shrugged. "I told him that I'd rather stay here with you guys. But you can go if you want to."

My mom shook her head. "No, of course we're going to spend Christmas with you, Jake. You're our son."

Their only son this year. Their only son for however long I could hang on.

I had a quiet dinner with my parents before excusing myself to go up to my room.

Things have been strange with my parents ever since the war ended. Well, they were strange even back during the war. I was growing up and making the kinds of life and death decisions that my parents never could and yet I still got yelled at for missing curfew or forgetting to do the dishwasher or slipping grades. Not that my grades matter now. I didn't graduate from high school and may never get a GED and nobody seems all that concerned anymore.

But at least before they thought things were normal and I could pretend that they were. Now…now, I don't know.

They don't blame me.

My stupidity led to their infestation at the hands of their firstborn son and my inability to ever free Tom (my decision to _kill_ Tom) and they don't blame me. I thought that they would, especially at first. I guess in a way I wanted them to. After all, there was nothing stopping me from getting them out of there and even managing to save Tom. I didn't because I thought I could make a better decision on a good night's sleep. Well, I got my sleep and realized that the better decision would have been to act then. And I had three years of sleep where I failed to do anything about my brother.

And yet…they don't. I just don't understand it. We haven't really talked about it. I mean, how do you really go about asking the people whose lives you destroyed why they don't hate you? What if they realize that they should? Despite the fact that I know that they should, I really don't want them to.

I must have fallen asleep at some point because the next thing I remember, my eyes are slowly opening. I immediately shut them again because I'm tired so keeping them open almost _hurts_.

"Oh, come on, don't go back to sleep on me now!" a familiar voice urged. "I've been waiting forever for you to wake up!"

My years as a soldier came back to me in an instant and I was no longer tired. There was somebody in my room! I sprung out of bed and turned the light by my bed on.

My eyes narrowed when I saw who was standing by my door. "Who are you?"

He looked a little hurt. "I haven't been dead _that_ long, Midget."

"Don't call me that," I snapped.

"Fine, _Jake_," he corrected.

"Who _are_ you?" I demanded again.

"You can't _not_ remember," he said, looking hurt again.

"It's not a matter of not remembering," I retorted. "It's a matter of you looking like a dead man."

His face cleared. "Ah. I _am_ dead, Jake."

"That's impossible," I said flatly.

"I would have thought that you of all people would know better than to use that word," he said mildly. "Yes, it's 'impossible' that I'm here with you now but isn't it just as 'impossible' for there to be life on other planets? For some of that life to be out to enslave us? For no one to even know? For you and basically five other people to save us all?"

"Just because all of that happened doesn't mean that you're really Tom," I countered.

"I suppose not," he agreed. "But you would think it would teach you to be a little more open-minded."

"Who are you?" I asked for a third time.

He sighed. "Jake, it really is me. I don't know how I'm supposed to convince you or what you think is going on here."

"I think that I'm either still dreaming or someone's morphed my brother," I told him. "Possibly a hologram. The only question is if anyone besides the Yeerk had ever acquired him. Cassie and Marco would both have had an opportunity to and if they thought they were 'helping' me by getting me 'closure' then I could see them doing that. They might have even reached out to the Chee."

He looked at me for a long moment. "You never used to be so suspicious, Jake."

"I never used to have to," I said simply.

"No, that is true," he agreed, sounding sad. "Can't you just accept that you're dreaming if you absolutely cannot believe that I'm here?"

I considered it. There really was no way to know if this was a morph until two hours had passed and if it were a hologram then I might never know. "Fine," I said shortly. "Why would I be dreaming about you?"

"Besides the fact that you need closure?" Tom asked rhetorically. He held up his hands. "And hey, those were _your_ words, not mine."

"My words that other people thought that I needed," I corrected. "So this is it? You're going to give me closure?"

Tom hesitated. "I…would like to, I really would. The only problem is that I really don't know how. You didn't save me, Jake, and in the end you killed me. That's not going to change no matter what you say or what I say."

I stared at him. "Well I'm pretty sure that that's not the way to go about doing it."

Tom shook his head helplessly. "I know. I just…You know I've never been very good at all this mushy stuff. Add to that the fact that I spent the last four years of my life only really able to communicate with sadistic Yeerks and I think you should cut me some slack."

My guilt must have shown on my face because Tom immediately winced. "Damn. That didn't come out right either."

"But it's true," I pointed out.

"A lot of things are true but that doesn't mean that that came out right," Tom replied.

"I'm sorry for killing you," I said. It sounded so ridiculous even in my head but I had to say it. There was no proper way to do something like that and no amount of 'I'm sorrys' would ever change anything but it had to be said nonetheless.

"Direct," Tom said approvingly.

I waited.

"_And_?" I asked finally.

Tom blinked. "Was I supposed to have said something?"

"I just apologized for killing you and you don't have any thoughts on that?" I asked incredulously.

Tom shrugged. "Well, I appreciate the sentiment. I'm glad that you're not glad that it happened. But all in all, I'm still dead."

I looked down. "I know."

Tom groaned. "You know, it has been four years since I've had a conversation with another living person. Well…I say 'another'…"

"Please." I sounded desperate, I know, but – dream or morph or whatever – this was the first chance I'd had to talk to him in so many years and there were things that I needed to know even if I was sure that I wouldn't like the answer. He'd either blame me the way our parents never did and I'd have to live with that or he wouldn't and I'd know that once again I was getting off too easy.

Tom sighed. "What do you want me to say? I'm not happy that I'm dead, Jake. I'm especially not happy that I died mere minutes before you won."

"If there was _any_ other way-" I started to say.

"There probably was," Tom cut me off. "There were probably a lot of other ways over the years. But by that time I'll agree that no, there probably wasn't. And in the end, you did save me after all."

My jaw dropped. "W-what? But I-I didn't…"

"You didn't save my life, no," Tom allowed. "But you saved me just the same. What do you think would have happened to me if you hadn't killed me? I'd have probably had to watch the Yeerk in my head kill you – _again_ – and then gone off to go enslave another species. There would have been no escape for me. Even if I'm dead, at least I didn't have to spend a lifetime as a Controller."

I couldn't accept his thanks (if, indeed, that was what it was). Instead I focused on another part of his speech. "Again?" I repeated. My eyes widened. "Oh, you mean with the Taxxon and…" I closed my eyes. "I didn't even think. I mean, I knew that you would have thought I was dead and that was the whole point but I didn't…"

"You didn't stop to consider what it would be like for me to think that it was my fault that you were dead," Tom finished for me. "And you feel especially guilty because now you know exactly what it feels like to think that it's your fault that I'm dead."

"It wasn't your fault, it never was," I said vehemently.

"It's difficult to remember that when you believe that you're watching your brother getting eaten alive," Tom said quietly.

"And what do you mean 'think it's my fault'?" I asked him.

Tom looked at me seriously. "Jake…it wasn't your fault that I got infested. It wasn't your fault that the Yeerk decided to betray the Visser. It wasn't even your fault that he hated you enough to try to take you down as well and you were forced to send Rachel after me. You were the one who chose to send her but by that point you had to and before that…well, you were just a kid."

"You're taking this rather well," I said quietly.

Tom laughed then. "Am I? I really didn't at first, you know. From the minute I saw you morphing until the minute the Yeerk began to plan out your death…I really thought that I hated you."

Now that was more what I had been expecting. Not wanting, exactly, but expecting.

"I don't know how long you knew about me," Tom began.

"Marco suspected the day after we found out about the Yeerks," I answered. "When you…he was asking about the construction site. I refused to believe him until that Sharing meeting I went to. You warned me to stay away and then I morphed and spied on the meeting."

"I remember that," Tom said distantly. "I hadn't thought you'd understand but I'm glad you did. I knew that you had to have known for quite some time and you hadn't done anything. I didn't blame you for mom and dad-"

"Neither did they," I muttered.

Tom gave me an exasperated look. "Of _course_ they didn't! You were there on the lawn that day. You tried to save us. It just didn't quite work."

"I should have tried harder," I said stubbornly. "I should have known."

"Believe me, no one wishes that you would have seen that coming more than I do but you're not perfect," Tom said firmly. "You did the best you could."

"My best wasn't good enough," I said darkly.

"The entire human race begs to differ," Tom said dryly. "But like I was saying, I didn't know why you didn't save me. It felt like you had abandoned me, that you didn't care. You knew and you did nothing." He held up a hand to forestall whatever protest he imagined I had. "Oh, I knew that you were fighting the invasion but on a personal level you knowing wasn't doing much for me. The Yeerk wasn't helping matters. He had a…hard time when the news came out, we both did. He did find some solace in tormenting me about you."

"I'm sorry." Again, it wasn't enough – it was never enough – but what else could I say?

"I know," he said simply. "I might have even known it then, I just didn't care. But when I thought you were dead I knew I had never really hated you. I was just angry."

"You were right to be angry," I told him.

Tom shrugged. "Maybe. It doesn't really matter anymore. You have no idea what it meant to me to realize that you were still alive."

"You have no idea what it meant to _me_ to watch you die," I responded. "To hear the Yeerk sounding just like you and begging me not to do it."

"He never thought you would have gone that far. _I_ never thought you would have gone that far. And yet, in the end, you did what you had to do and you saved the planet," Tom concluded. "I wish it could have been different but it's not and I've accepted that. And death, you know? It's not so bad. I mean, I wouldn't recommend trying it anytime soon but when the time comes…"

"Why are you here?" I asked him. "To try to make me feel less guilty? 'Closure'?" Whatever that means.

"I want to save you," Tom told me earnestly.

My brow furrowed. "From what? The war is over and the idiots who think that us winning stopped the rapture aren't really targeting _me_. Am I in some kind of danger?"

Tom shook his head. "Not physical danger, no, but danger all the same."

"I don't follow."

"When was the last time you were happy, Jake?" he asked out of the blue.

"What does that have to do with-"

Tom cut me off. "Have you been happy at all since the Blade Ship? Since our parents got infested?"

"I-I don't remember," I told him. "What does it even matter?"

"I think that you do and I think that you know that the answer is no," he said knowingly. "And it matters because you're my little brother and I want you to be happy."

Did I even deserve to be happy after all of the lives I destroyed? All the mistakes that I made?

"And if you're getting all angsty about whether or not you 'deserve' to be happy then don't," Tom ordered. "Because you're really looking at it the wrong way. I'm dead. Rachel's dead. Whoever else you're feeling guilty about is also dead. We don't get to grow up and have a life and be happy. _You_ get that chance. You can do whatever you want to and be whoever you want to be so _how dare you_ turn your back on that when we no longer have that opportunity?"

He almost looked angry.

I sighed. "It's not that simple. I can't just stop caring. God knows I've tried but I can't and I can't forget, either."

"No one ever said you had to forget, little brother. Just try and remember to live as well," he urged. "And I've got something that might help you out with that."

"Oh?" I asked, intrigued.

"Do you remember A Christmas Carol?" Tom asked.

I frowned. "Is that the one with the bee bee gun and everyone telling him that he'd shoot his eye out?"

Tom shook his head. "No, that was A Christmas Story. A Christmas Carol was the one with Scrooge and the three ghosts."

I blinked. "Are you seriously going to go all Christmas Carol on me?"

Tom shrugged. "Hey, it worked for Scrooge."

"He wasn't real!" I protested.

"It was certainly better than any other ideas I could come up with," Tom said defensively. "And besides, I'm not the only one who wanted to see you." He glanced at my clock. "Look, I've got to go now. Try and get some sleep. They'll show up when they show up."

"This is ridiculous!"I cried out.

"Quite possibly," Tom agreed. "Now listen closely because this had better be the last time I see you for at _least_ fifty years, preferably longer: I love you and I forgive you and forgive yourself."

I blinked and he was gone.

Review Please!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I do not own Animorphs. It might also be a good idea to mention that I don't own _A Christmas Carol_.

Before my eyes even opened I could tell that there was somebody in my room. I cracked my eyes open just a little so I could observe the situation before whoever it was realized that I was awake. I didn't appear to restrained but that didn't necessarily mean that I was safe.

When I saw who it was, I immediately sat up in bed. "Grandpa G?"

My great-grandfather smiled mildly at me. "Well that was fast."

"I've decided that I'm still dreaming," I explained. "The Chee are likely still too angry to do something like this and I can't imagine that Marco or Cassie – or anyone else – would have a morph of you."

Grandpa G shook his head. "All this talk of Chee and morphing…You're making me feel old, Jake."

"Well you are…" I trailed off, gesturing. "You know."

"I'll have you know that I'm really not _that_ old in the grand scheme of things," he told me. He glanced around my room. It might be a little sad but I had recreated my old room as best as I could. It made it easier to pretend. "This doesn't quite look like the sort of room that a war-hero would have."

I winced at the term. "Grandpa-"

"I know, _believe me_, I know," Grandpa G interrupted. "War heroes never do feel like war heroes. Every damn fool entering the army wants to be one but by the time that you understand what that _really_ means you know better. It's not the kind of thing you can see in yourself but let me tell you, Jake, that if I'm a war hero for saving my men then you're a war hero for saving my planet."

"I've killed far too many people to be a hero," I said flatly.

"I think you'll have to let other people be the judge of that," Grandpa G replied. "They may not know about everyone that you killed but they certainly know of the two Yeerk Pools that you destroyed."

"They don't see it as me killing defenseless people, innocent people," I countered. "They're just idealizing me. And in the end I failed anyway."

"Failed on a personal level, perhaps," Grandpa G allowed. "But succeeding there wouldn't have made you a war hero; it was the larger picture that did it. And since what you did saved the planet then they're willing to overlook the immorality of those actions."

"I'm not," I said stubbornly.

Grandpa G nodded sagely. "And that's why you're the hero." A pause. "I see you've gotten a footlocker."

"Mom wants to display the medals and awards," I confided. "She says that she understands how I feel about them – I don't think she does but that's what she say – but that she wants a reminder that the war that destroyed our family wasn't such a loss to everyone. She says she's not going to push the issue, though."

"And what do you think?" he asked me.

"Me?" I shrugged. "I just want to forget and even though I know I never will I don't want those medals to rub my face in it."

"I can understand that," Grandpa G assured me. "I had a footlocker for a reason."

"Are you my ghost of Christmas Past?" I inquired. I was pretty sure that that was what it was though I hadn't seen the movie in a few years and I had never read the book.

Grandpa G nodded. "Indeed. I'm worried about you and don't want you to live out the rest of your life in a cabin on a lake miles away from everyone else. Or even…well, I want more for you."

"So how does this work then?" I asked. "Do I have to do anything or…?"

"Touch my hand and close your eyes," Grandpa G instructed.

Since this was, in all probability, a dream and since if it wasn't the Chee couldn't hurt me and I could morph anyway I did as requested.

When I opened my eyes I was back in my house – my _real_ house – and if the decorations were anything to go by (we hadn't done much decorating this year) then it was the Christmas season. Of course, these days the Christmas season starts the day after Thanksgiving and the decorations don't come down until shortly after the New Year so that really wasn't all that specific. Still, I could see a few unopened presents under the tree so that at least placed it no later than Christmas Eve.

I heard voices coming from the kitchen so I went over there to investigate. The four of us were in the kitchen seated around the table finishing up dinner. I couldn't have been more than nine and quite possibly younger.

"That was brutal," my dad said, groaning.

"The dinner?" my mom asked dangerously, most likely having cooked.

"No, the church service," my dad clarified. "I'm not even Christian, Jean. Why did I have to sit through hours of that on Christmas Eve?"

"We had to get there early so we could get a good seat," the younger me said seriously.

"It's just once a year," my mom pointed out. "And you agreed to go."

"It's only once a year because the one on Easter is three hours long," my dad muttered. "And you know I don't listen when you ask me things during a game!"

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," my mom said innocently.

"It wasn't that bad," Tom opined. "We got to sing Christmas Carols and everything. Plus Mom let us bring something to do before it started."

"_Christmas Eve_," my dad said again as if that changed everything.

"If you don't celebrate Christmas then what difference does that make?" my mom asked reasonably.

"Who says I don't celebrate Christmas?" my dad asked, surprised. "I love Christmas. I think everybody should celebrate Christmas. It's a great, secular holiday."

"It's _really_ not-" my mom started to say.

"Rudolph and Frosty say otherwise," my dad countered.

My mom sighed. "Well, I suppose it's better than you refusing to celebrate it with the boys at all…"

"Do you remember this?" Grandpa G asked me.

I glanced over at him, forcing myself to turn away from the scene playing out before me.

"No," I admitted. "I was pretty young and things were always like that back then. Nothing to really make it stick out in my memory."

I wish I did. I didn't like the thought of losing any of my good memories no matter how much they might hurt to think about.

"Can we put out cookies for Santa now?" the younger me asked earnestly the minute he had shoved the last of his food into his mouth and swallowed. "I don't want to forget."

Tom laughed. "Like that would ever happen."

"Alright," my mom agreed. "Tom, will you help him?"

Tom nodded and stood up. "Come on, Midget, let's go see what kind of cookies we've got."

The two of us made our way over to the cabinet.

"Oreos or Chips Ahoy?" Tom asked.

The younger me frowned and tilted his head to the side as he seriously considered the question. "Can we have some of both?"

Tom glanced over at our parents.

"Two of each," my mom decided.

After Tom got that ready, the younger me had another question.

"What about milk?"

"I think that should wait until right before bed so it doesn't spoil waiting for Santa," my dad replied. "And make sure to use the skim-milk."

My mom shot him a pointed look.

"You know, to balance out those cookies," my dad hastened to add.

Still, younger me wasn't satisfied. Was I really like that as a child? I really don't remember being like that.

"What about Santa's reindeer?" the younger me persisted.

"What do reindeer eat?" Tom asked, puzzled.

"Um…" Younger me bit his lip. "Carrots? We can put them by the cookies so Santa can take them to the reindeer."

Tom went to go check the refrigerator. "We don't have any baby carrots so I guess big ones will have to do."

Younger me went to go look as well. "Oh, and apples! We need apples!"

"Maybe just one," my mother told us. Them.

"Once you're done with that we can see what specials are on tonight," my dad offered.

"It was always like that," I said quietly. "Church on Christmas Eve, the unsuccessful search on the drive home for a place that was still open, then eating dinner at home and putting out milk and cookies for Santa before watching Christmas shows and going to bed."

"Even after the war started?" Grandpa G asked curiously.

My mouth twisted into an approximation of a smile. "Even then although, for obvious reasons, it was completely different. We didn't really do that this year. I guess maybe my parents might have but…I don't know…It just wouldn't be the same."

"Different doesn't always have to be bad," Grandpa G said gently.

I shrugged noncommittally.

"Tom told me about when he first found out there wasn't a Santa Claus," I said instead. I paused. "Well, the Yeerk did at any rate. I think it was probably true. He said that he'd been in fifth grade and only he and a girl in his class still believed. He definitely wanted it to be true but he wasn't sure. He kept hounding our parents about it. Mom eventually told him that she preferred to believe while with Dad there was some Christmas special on where the characters were trying to figure out if there was a Santa or not. Dad said that the answer on the TV would be the real answer but when they had there be a Santa there he changed his mind and said that you couldn't always believe everything on TV. Finally, he snuck downstairs on Christmas Eve and caught our parents putting presents under the tree."

"What happened?" Grandpa G asked, understanding my need to talk about something else.

"Dad yelled at him to go upstairs and then stopped by his room and told him he'd never have a Christmas again if he told me," I answered. "He didn't even seem to notice how upset Tom was about this turn of events. I guess they really hadn't prepared for when we'd learn the truth." I smiled. "Of course, apparently Tom did the exact same thing on Easter just to be sure."

Easter was another holiday that my dad insisted could be celebrated completely secularly though I understood his rationale far less than with Christmas. I think he just liked the candy and egg hunts.

"And what about you? When did you figure it out?" Grandpa G asked me.

"Well…it's a little embarrassing," I began.

Grandpa G held up his hands. "I'm not here to judge," he assured me.

"I actually believed in Santa all the way up until I was thirteen," I admitted. "No one else my age did and Marco made fun of me but I really wanted it to be true. It was only when December rolled around that I realized that, because of the war, I simply knew better. It wasn't any one moment where I realized the truth. My parents were disappointed but I think they were expecting it a lot earlier."

"I know that I was a little sad when my children stopped believing," Grandpa G told me.

"I probably should have figured it out sooner, actually," I remarked. "All the gifts from Santa used to have hand-written labels until one year I pointed out that Santa's writing looked a lot like Dad's writing if he wrote shakily. He said that I shouldn't be surprised if next year the labels were done on a label-maker and they were."

Grandpa G smiled at that. "You were young."

"Young and innocent," I said wistfully.

"Let's get to the next memory," Grandpa G suggested. "Close your eyes."

I did as requested and opened my eyes to see that I was in the barn. Cassie's barn. I haven't been there since the day we told Cassie's parents about us and then failed to save my family.

The six of us were all there and we looked impossibly young. Well…four and a half of us did anyway. It was impossible to tell with Tobias and only somewhat clear in Ax. The rest of us, though…this must have been our first Christmas as Animorphs.

"I'm just saying that now it doesn't sound so crazy," Marco was insisting.

"Yes, I'm sure that's _exactly_ what you're saying," the younger me said sarcastically.

((What doesn't sound crazy?)) Ax asked curiously.

"Jake's long-held belief in Santa Claus," Marco explained gleefully.

Younger me shot a quick glance at Cassie as he reddened. "I do not!"

"You did last year," Marco pointed out.

"Nope, definitely not," younger me denied.

Rachel laughed. "Really? Santa Claus, Jake?"

"I don't even know this man, I swear!" younger me claimed, gesturing towards Marco.

"Well _I_ think it's sweet," Cassie said loudly.

"Of course _she_ does," Marco muttered. "Rachel would say the same thing if it were Tobias."

"That's because it would be sweet if it were Tobias," Rachel said matter-of-factly. "As it is, it's hilarious that Jake does."

"Did," younger me corrected automatically. "Not that what he says is true!"

Cassie sighed. "I wish I could still believe."

((Who is this Santa Claus and why is it shameful to believe in him?)) Ax asked, confused.

((He's…well, he's sort of hard to explain,)) Tobias admitted. ((Basically he's a really old, really fat man who lives at the North Pole with his wife. There are elves – shorter, magical humans – who live there and make toys. Every year on Christmas Eve, Santa loads the toys up in his sleigh and has his eight magic reindeer pulling the sleigh as he flies through the sky and delivers toys to every good little boy or girl.))

"Only eight?" Rachel asked. "What about Rudolph?"

"What about Olive?" Marco muttered.

((Eight or nine reindeer,)) Tobias corrected. ((And let's forget about Olive, Marco.))

"You can't just forget about Olive the other reindeer!" he said indignantly.

We all groaned at the incredibly lame pun.

((Was that a joke?)) Ax asked blankly.

"No," Rachel said flatly. "It wasn't."

((Is this 'Santa Claus' real?)) Ax asked suspiciously. ((Because I find the logistics of that difficult to believe when I consider your population and the state of your technology.))

"Well, not _everyone_ gets a present," Cassie explained. "Only good children. And, I guess, children who celebrate Christmas. That's got to leave out a few hundred million or even billion people. And then it's only children so that further cuts down the number of presents. It's not like all six billion some people have to be provided for."

((What happens to bad children?)) Ax inquired.

"They get coal," younger me replied. "Or at least that's how the story goes. Back when that started I guess coal would have been really useful for families but nowadays you can't do much with it. Maybe have a barbecue. That's why my parents always threatened us with toiletries."

Marco laughed. "Toilet paper for Christmas. Wonderful."

((You were saying something about how you wished you could still believe in Santa,)) Ax reminded Cassie.

Cassie nodded. "Oh, right. When people get to a certain age it's expected that they stop believing in him."

((Why believe in the first place if parents know that it isn't true?)) Ax asked reasonably.

Cassie shrugged. "I don't know. It's just a tradition. I guess it makes it more fun for the kids."

Ax nodded like it being a tradition explained all the craziness. From what I've seen of the Andalites, it probably did.

"I stopped believing when I was playing hide-and-seek with one of my cousins and I picked the closet where all the Christmas presents were hidden to hide," Cassie explained. "I think I was only seven or so."

((I never actually believed in Santa,)) Tobias admitted. ((My aunt and uncle never really saw the need to pretend for me.))

There was a slight awkward silence, as there always was, whenever Tobias reminded us of how terrible his life had been before the war and why we all secretly suspected, at one time or another, that he had been trapped on purpose. Not that his life had gotten any better after the war had ended but then my life was distinctly worse than it was before and during the war as well. Not like with Ax and Marco and Cassie. And poor Rachel didn't even have a life at all anymore.

"I never believed in Santa either," Rachel said finally. "My mom's a lawyer, as you know, and she doesn't believe in sugar-coating things. You should hear some of the things she has to say on the subject, actually."

"I never believed either," Marco lied. I happened to know for a fact that he had believed up until the Christmas after his mother died. Between the grief and the fact his father had forgotten all about Christmas it wasn't any surprise. "I'm too smart for things like that. Now _Jake_, on the other hand…"

"So," younger me said quickly, "what was that you were saying earlier about this not seeming so crazy anymore?"

Marco looked torn but finally decided to allow the change of subject. "Now that we're dealing with shape-shifting and brain-stealing aliens every day, is something as simple and childish as Santa really _that_ out there? Maybe he's an alien, too."

"And he's certainly stolen _your_ brain," Rachel said pleasantly.

"As long as he brings me that new game I want I don't even care," Marco retorted. "You would not _believe_ how impossible it is to find it anywhere."

"You look happy," Grandpa G noted.

I forced myself to tear my eyes away from the scene. "We were happy."

"Even though the war was going on?" Grandpa G inquired.

"It was easier to forget back then," I said quietly. "It hadn't dominated our lives yet. We were all happier back then. And it was Christmas."

"It's Christmas _now_," Grandpa G pointed out.

"And Rachel is dead and Tobias is missing and Ax is off doing something Andalite somewhere out in the galaxy," I replied.

"And Marco invited you and your family to spend the day with his family and Cassie is waiting for you to call," Grandpa G countered.

"Was there anything else or was that it?" I asked pointedly.

Grandpa G sighed. "There is one more memory. Close your eyes."

When I opened my eyes this time I saw the barn again but this time the younger me was standing outside, looking up at the sky with Cassie.

"You know, Ax actually showed me where the Andalite home world was once," she said conversationally.

"Is there any chance you could actually find it again?" the younger me asked.

"Sure. It's…that one," Cassie said, pointing to one at random.

"I think that's the Big Dipper," younger me corrected.

"What, the Andalite Homeworld can't orbit a star in the Big Dipper?" she asked mock-indignantly as she put her hands on her hips.

The younger me shook his head. "I really doubt it."

"And I find your lack of faith disturbing," Cassie countered.

Younger me laughed. "I suppose Tatooine is the Bid Dipper, too?"

"No," Cassie assured me. "Orion, actually."

"Of course," younger me said, fighting a smile. "That's what I get for not taking Astronomy."

"It's okay. Ax assures me that that subject is just as wrong as all of the sciences," Cassie replied.

The younger me shook his head again. "We have _got_ to stop letting him anywhere near our homework."

"He's just trying to help," Cassie defended him.

"Yes but he insists that we've named the stars wrong," younger me pointed out.

Cassie smiled. "You have to admit, it is kind of funny. He just gets so serious."

"You should have seen him when Marco told him that he believed that the stars were the spirits of great kings looking down at us after they die," younger me told her.

Cassie giggled. "Oh, I can just imagine! Poor Ax…"

"Poor Ax?" the younger me repeated. "Poor _me_ getting caught up in that!"

Cassie smiled at me again and slipped her hand in mine. "Do you want to go inside and eat with us? My parents would love to have you."

"I'd rather stay out here with you," the younger me admitted. "But I'd rather go in than leave."

Cassie brushed her hand across the younger me's face and I looked away.

"I remember this," I said tightly.

"Do you?" Grandpa G asked mildly. "You don't act like it. But then, it is your life. As long as you live it then it is your choice."

He was the second person to accuse me of not living. If they weren't dead and/or a dream I'd suspect them of talking to Marco.

"Close your eyes."

I did and when I finally opened them again I was back in my room. There didn't appear to be anyone else here (be it Grandpa G or whoever the 'Ghost of Christmas Present' was) and so I went back to bed.

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	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I do not own Animorphs or _A Christmas Carol_.

This time I woke up to the sensation of a pillow being thrown in my face.

I sat up and looked into a pair of very familiar blue eyes.

"I was waiting for you to show up," I greeted.

"Does this mean you've accepted that this is real?" Rachel asked me.

I shook my head. "No, it means that I've accepted that this is a dream. There's no way the Chee could have reproduced some of those memories."

"I probably wouldn't have believed it either," Rachel confided. "So even though this is absolutely real, believe what you will. As long as you actually learn something."

"I've missed you," I told her.

She tossed her hair. "Why wouldn't you?"

"And I'm sorry," I said quietly.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I know."

I waited. What was it with the people whose deaths I had in some way caused having so little to say on the matter? If they were trying to spare my feelings then they really needn't bother.

"Is that it?"

"Just about," Rachel replied. "The rest is pretty typical, I think."

"I'd like to hear it anyway," I insisted.

Rachel sighed. "Of _course_ you would. I don't understand why you're so determined to drown yourself in guilt. What happened happened, alright?"

I didn't say anything.

"Fine," Rachel said, sounding a little annoyed. "I didn't want to die; of course I didn't. And when the Blade Ship ultimately escaped it took me awhile before I accepted that my death wasn't in vain. I hate watching you and Tobias throwing away the lives that you have and I don't and I hate that you two are using me as an excuse to wallow. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

I shrugged.

"Of course not. You have no idea what you want," Rachel said, unsurprised.

"I'm not wallowing," I told her.

"Jake, the world loves you. The Andalites have actually started to talk about how Andalite-like you are and you know what that means coming from them. The Hork-Bajir consider you one of their saviors. The Yeerks aren't really fans but even they can't completely hate you because you fought for their right to become nothlits. You are young and you've got this whole world – and more! – open to you. What are you doing with your life?" Rachel demanded.

"I don't know," I admitted. Everyone always asked me that and I always avoided the question but when Rachel asked me it was different. It was like I owed her the answer since I got to have a future to 'throw away' and she didn't. "I guess I'm waiting for the trial."

Rachel grinned briefly at that. "Ah yes, the trial. Do you know how much I love the idea that the ever-arrogant Visser One will be judged in our courts by our laws for what he did to us? It'll make his head explode."

"I'm glad you approve," I told her. I could have just killed him, of course, but after what had happened with Rachel and Tom I wasn't feeling particularly merciful. He could spend the rest of his life rotting in the Yeerk Pool he had gone to such great lengths to escape and, what's more, he could do it alone.

She turned serious again. "Do you know what I would be doing right now?"

I shook my head. "No. What?"

"First, if Tobias were still being stupid I wouldn't leave him alone until he snapped out of it," Rachel declared. She sounded so wistful. "And he might, you know. Not all of his issues are about me. We definitely would have settled the whole becoming human thing now that he no longer has the war as an excuse. And then…then I'd go see the world. Maybe he'd come and maybe he wouldn't. I would go tour the planet that I'd help save and I'd have a proper adventure. Skydiving and cliff climbing and swimming with sharks…It would have been _amazing_."

"I'm sorry." What else could I say?

"Yeah? Well so am I but you don't see me spending my time sulking," Rachel said pointedly. "And for the record you are treating my best friend abominably."

I held up my hands. "I haven't done anything to Cassie!"

"That's kind of my point," Rachel muttered, looking like she couldn't believe anyone could be that stupid. "Let's go see all the life that you _could_ be living but refuse to why don't we?"

She snapped her finger and suddenly we were on a plane. Men with parachutes were standing around and one of them was looking out of the open plane door. "Alright, who's first?" he asked.

"You're taking me skydiving?" I couldn't believe it.

Rachel shook her head. "No, actually, I was supposed to take you to see Marco. As you can see, I'd rather watch skydiving." She snapped her fingers again.

Marco and his parents were sitting in front of the fireplace at Marco's new house. Christmas in California really isn't cold enough to _need_ a fire but I guess Marco was just getting into the spirit of things. A white Christmas, apparently ideal, wasn't the kind of thing we Californians could expect when we stayed at home.

"Marco, you realize that it's deeply disturbing to be blasting the air conditioning while you have a fire going, right?" Eva asked rhetorically.

"I don't think it is," Marco disagreed. "After all, if the weather won't cooperate then we mere mortals have to take matters into our own hands."

"I have to agree with your mother on this one," Peter told him. "Air conditioning cold isn't really the same as winter cold."

Marco threw his hands in the air. "First I'm doing too much and then I'm not doing enough! Will nothing satisfy you?"

"Well, turning off the air conditioning might," Eva said dryly.

"Think of the bill," Peter said beseechingly.

"That's the benefits of having more money than you know what to do with," Marco said brightly. "I really don't have to."

"Think of the environment," Peter tried.

Marco groaned. "See, _this_ is why I didn't invite Cassie. And besides, I can't possibly turn off or even down the air conditioning. It would be _way_ too hot for a fire if I did."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have a fire," Eva suggested.

"But it's _Christmas_!" Marco protested.

"In _California_," Eva countered. "I don't recall us ever having another Christmas with a fire."

Marco nodded solemnly. "A travesty I'm working to correct on this, the best Christmas ever."

"Oh, is that what this is?" Eva asked innocently.

"And if I didn't have a fire once in awhile, which you'll agree I usually need the air conditioning for, then what's the point of even _having_ a fire place? Decoration?" Marco asked, making a face.

"That is an excellent question and probably one that you should have considered before buying the place," Peter said sensibly.

"Wonderful Christmas spirit, guys," Marco said, shaking his head in faux-disappointment. I was perfectly aware that he was enjoying himself immensely with these silly little arguments. He always did.

They fell into silence for a few minutes.

"Nora sent me a Christmas card," Peter announced suddenly. "That's nice of her. I wouldn't have thought she would given the fact that she was forced to marry me. I should call her."

There was a quick flash of what might have been guilt on Marco's face. It appeared that he hadn't admitted to his father that Nora had only been infested the night that he and Rachel had saved Peter. I wonder how they'd convinced Nora to go along with it. _If_ they had convinced Nora to go along with it. For all I knew she was out there wondering why her husband couldn't even be bothered to contact her before getting back with his first wife. If they'd actually spoke, of course, then there was no way that Marco's father wouldn't know the truth unless Nora was feeling _really_ selfless.

"That's nice of her," Eva said, clearly not meaning a word of it. "So, Marco, I thought that Jake was going to be coming over."

Marco sighed. "I asked him, Mom. He wasn't interested."

"That's too bad. I hate to think that this war managed to destroy your friendship on top of everything else," Peter said, frowning.

"I haven't given up," Marco assured him. "And hey, it's not like I don't still have my remarkable powers of annoyance. _No one_ can say no to me forever once I _really_ get going."

Eva chucked. "Poor Jake."

"It's for his own good," Marco said nobly.

"Well?" Rachel asked, nudging me.

I considered. "It's true; Marco can be extremely annoying."

She laughed. "You won't get any arguments from me but that wasn't quite what I meant."

"I know," I admitted. "I'm glad that Marco's happy. There's a little bit of awkwardness concerning Nora but his dad doesn't seem to be making a huge effort on that front. They'll be okay. And even if Peter finds out that Nora wasn't always a Controller, Marco can always – and probably _will_ – claim that he thought she was."

"That's great, Jake, but what about the part pertaining to you?"

That was harder. "It's…nice, I guess, that he's going through so much trouble but he really doesn't need to. I'm really fine."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Yes because that's exactly why several dead people have decided to come and talk to about your life choices."

"And here I thought you just wanted to visit," I said wryly.

"Well if Marco won't convince you then what about Cassie?" Rachel asked curiously.

My eyes widened. "That's really not-"

Rachel snapped her fingers.

"Necessary," I said belatedly, looking around at the changed scenery. Now I knew why Grandpa G had requested that I close my eyes. It's quite disconcerting to see the world reform around you.

Cassie was sitting in the kitchen of her parent's house watching her parents cook.

"Well you know me," Rachel said cheerfully. "I like to go above and beyond."

"Are you sure I can't help out?" Cassie asked them. "I feel kind of useless just sitting here watching you make dinner."

"Of course we're sure," Michelle told her. "You work so hard and we just want you to relax and let us take care of it."

"But if it really means all that much to you, you can feel free to clean up," Walter joked.

"I've missed Cassie," Rachel said fondly. "I always knew, somehow, that she would come out of the war practically the exact same she went into it. I mean, look at that sweater! It's at _least_ two sizes too big! At least her jeans don't seem to have bird poop on them. Then again, that's probably just because it's Christmas…"

Cassie laughed quietly.

"What?" Walter asked.

"Nothing," Cassie said, still smiling. "I just thought of what Rachel would say if she could see me now."

"She knows me so well," Rachel said, smiling.

"What?" Michelle asked.

"She'd probably complain about my outfit," Cassie replied.

"She wouldn't," Michelle tried to assure her.

Cassie snorted. "Please, Mom. It's _Rachel_. Of course she would. All the mushy catching up could wait."

"So," Walter said carefully. "This is your first Christmas since she died. Are you alright?"

Cassie was quiet for a moment, considering. "I think I am, actually," she said, sounding a little surprised by her own answer. "I didn't think I would be, at first, but I really am. That's not to say I don't miss her, of course, but…I'm okay."

"_Good_," Rachel said emphatically. "The last thing I need is **her** wallowing on top of everything else."

"What about Jake?" Michelle asked, just as carefully.

Suddenly Cassie wasn't looking at them anymore. "What about him?"

"When was the last time you saw him?" Michelle pressed.

Cassie sighed. "I don't even remember. I want to call but…well, I hope I'm not falling into the trap where we both wait for the other one to call but I just want to give him some space. He took the war harder than any of us except Tobias."

"And you're okay with that?" Michelle asked, concerned.

Cassie shrugged. "I don't know. Not really but what can you do? I said I'd give him a year, you know. I'm not just waiting for the sake of waiting; there's not anybody else for me right now. If he doesn't, though…I'm not going to sit around forever. There's nobody today and there won't be anybody tomorrow but one day there will be."

"That's very mature of you, Cassie," Walter said approvingly. "How'd we get such a wonderful daughter, Michelle?"

"It's my side of the family," Michelle claimed.

"See! You** are** ruining things with her!" Rachel accused, whacking me on the arm.

"Ow!" I complained. Huh. Apparently she was corporeal.

"You still have time. Stop screwing up!" she ordered.

"Maybe I'll call her," I conceded, hoping she wasn't going to hit me again.

"That's what you _always_ say," Rachel said disgustedly. "And you never do."

"Well, maybe this time I will," I said, annoyed both that she clearly didn't believe me and at the truth in her words.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Rachel said skeptically. "Come on; we've got one more stop."

"What's your family doing?" I asked, curiously. As with many other things, I hadn't actually followed up on how they had handled losing her despite the fact that they were family. Or maybe because of.

Rachel sighed. "My dad's still having trouble believing any of it. My mom blames herself. Jordan's having trouble with the fact that the hero me that she hears about wasn't very much like the impatient and never around me that she remembers. Sara's too young to really get it. She probably won't even remember me properly."

"I'm sorry."

"That is getting seriously annoying," Rachel said flatly.

"I'm-" I stopped. That wouldn't help matters. "Never mind."

"Good," Rachel said, satisfied. "And if you're really so concerned about my family then you could always see them."

Subtle as always, that was Rachel.

"After the look your mother gave me when she saw me at the funeral?" I asked incredulously. "I like my head attached to my neck, thank you very much."

"I was there," Rachel informed me. "And despite the fact that I was still getting over being dead…it was fantastic. Everyone should have a funeral like that. Interesting eulogy you gave."

I shrugged, not really wanting to talk about the terrible time after the war had first ended. It was bad enough how often I thought about it.

Rachel snapped her fingers and I had just managed to shut my eyes as the world began to change.

I opened my eyes to find that I was home. I glanced around but Rachel was still there. I might have known as I wasn't in my bedroom.

My parents were still sitting at the table but the dishes had been cleared away. They weren't talking.

"What am I supposed to be seeing here?" I asked.

"Just watch," Rachel said, unwilling to just tell me.

"What are we going to do?" my mom asked finally.

"I don't know," my dad tiredly.

"What's wrong?"I asked, alarmed. "Are they having marital problems?"

I should have thought of this. I don't know the numbers but I know that a lot of people get divorced after losing a child because the memories are just too painful. Add in their own experiences as Controllers and I really should have expected there to be some issues.

"Would you have noticed if they were?" Rachel asked pointedly.

I continued to stare at her.

"Just keep watching," she instructed.

"I've gone back and looked through every parenting book we ever bought but there's nothing in here about what to do when your child is blaming himself for the deaths of his brother and cousin," my mom said, shaking her head. "I've tried, Steve, I really have but I don't know what to do. I don't know how to get through to him."

"Me?" I asked, stunned. "_I'm_ the one causing them problems?"

"Don't start feeling guilty," Rachel advised. "Because _that_ is the problem right there."

"I've been talking to a buddy of mine, a psychiatrist," my dad told her. "I think Jake might have PTSD." At her questioning look, he elaborated. "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. A lot of people get it after being in war."

"Do you think he needs a psychiatrist?" my mom asked worriedly. "He didn't really like the idea before."

"But before it was probably something war-related and he couldn't really talk about what was really bothering him," my dad pointed out. "Now he can but there's no guarantee that they'd really understand and I think he knows that. And I think that, seventeen or not, we really couldn't force him to anymore."

"Do you think we should at least bring it up?" my mom asked. "It has to be worth a try, right? Maybe Jake will get mad but maybe he'll try to get the help that he needs. I just want to help him but _I don't know how_ and maybe this professional will."

"I love Jake and as long as he wants to stay here with us, he's welcome," my dad declared. "But he's carrying too much around with him. I just want him to be happy and I don't think that's going to happen anytime soon if we just let it alone."

"It's something to think about at any rate," my mom said heavily. "We lost one son and I don't want to do nothing and lose the son we still have."

"Well?" Rachel asked, almost gently. "Does that answer your question?"

It did but it left me unsure of what to say.

My first reaction was indignation. I didn't need a therapist. I was fine. No matter what apparently everyone else in my life thought, I was _fine_. I really didn't even understand all the concern but I knew that that was all it was: honest concern. The people who cared about me were worried and I _really_ didn't need that on top of everything else.

The more I was seeing the more I was starting to wonder if maybe – just maybe – they might have had a point.

Rachel's head jerked up suddenly. "I have to go."

"What?" I asked, startled. "Why?"

"My time's up," she said simply. "Your little path to self-discovery isn't over, though. There's one more person here to help you but then you'll have to figure it out by yourself."

"Rachel…" I said helplessly. I didn't want to see her go again because I knew that once she did then I'd never see her again.

"I know," she said, nodding. "And let me leave you with this: if you absolutely _must_ refuse to stop feeling guilty for my death then for God's sake put that guilt to some use! Remember every happy moment and bit of romance and good old-fashioned adrenaline rush that I'll never get to have and stop acting like you're dead, too."

"I'll…I'll try," I promised her as she faded away.

I looked around. I wasn't at home anymore; I was in a graveyard.

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	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I do not own Animorphs or _A Christmas Carol_.

"This isn't right," I said, frowning. "I'm nearly positive that the shock of seeing my own grave is supposed to come at the very end of this. Unless this is a very very short trip to the future, I guess. Is it?"

I glanced around me. There was someone new here but I couldn't tell who it was or if I even knew them. They were about human-sized, I suppose, but covered al in a large, formless black cloak.

The…_spirit_, for lack of a better word, stayed silent for so long that I began to get very uncomfortable before it slowly raised its sleeve (well, arm, but I could only see the sleeve) and gestured to my right.

I followed the motion and saw a future version of me. I didn't look that much older but I had grown somewhat. The older me was sitting quietly on the ground and staring up at a headstone. And not just any old headstone, either. This was a fancy headstone; this was _Rachel's_ headstone.

I watched my older self for awhile, waiting to see if he'd do anything to make me understand why we were here. He didn't, though. I guess I haven't given up my habit of just sitting at her grave. In fact, it might have gotten worse.

I finally tore my eyes away from the sight and back at the spirit and then the world changed.

I saw Cassie looking a couple of years older herself. She was nervous as hell but trying not to show it, determined to get through whatever she had set her mind on. Her parents weren't there but mine were along with Marco's parents and Loren.

"You said that you had information about where Marco is," Eva said, sounding almost accusing.

"I do," Cassie agreed hesitantly.

"And Jake?" my dad pressed.

"Did something happen to me?" I asked, alarmed. "And to Marco?"

Cassie nodded. "And Tobias."

"Is he missing?" Loren asked, somewhat bitter. "I wouldn't have noticed."

Cassie winced that time. "A month ago Jake came to me. He told me that Ax – that Prince Aximili – had been tracking the Blade Ship and that he finally found it. Most of the crew of his ship was missing or dead. Only one Andalite made it back to Earth to warn us. Jake and Marco and Tobias went after him."

My breath caught in my throat. Ax. Something had happened to Ax and we were once more rushing into danger and putting our lives on the line, it seemed. It didn't seem fair, really. But then, at least it's better than just sitting around waiting for life to start making sense again.

"Why all the secrecy?" my mom demanded. "If they were going to rescue their friend then why did they just disappear?"

Cassie took a deep breath. "They suspect Ax of being in Kelbrid territory." That clearly meant nothing to them (it meant nothing to me) and so she elaborated. "The Kelbrid are a powerful race that controls a large section of the galaxy. They and the Andalites have an agreement where they'll just stay out of the other's territory. The Andalites can't be involved with this. That's why they had to steal a captured Yeerk fighter and go after them. Well, I say steal but they had unofficial sanction."

"Why didn't they tell us?" Peter asked, looking lost.

"I-I don't know," Cassie admitted. "Maybe they thought you'd try to stop them. Maybe they didn't think that they could bring themselves to go if you did."

Did I even think to ask Cassie to tell my parents? I can't imagine that I'd put that on her. She was taking the initiative so that our families would have just as many answers as she did despite knowing that she wouldn't be thanked for it. It made me remember all over again just how amazing Cassie can be.

"They told you," Loren pointed out.

Eva jumped on that. "Why aren't you with them?"

Cassie looked away. "Jake told me. I guess he wouldn't have felt right not telling me. Ax was one of us, after all."

The look on my parents' faces at that…

"I offered to go," Cassie insisted, sounding almost desperate to be believed. "I did. Jake told me to stay. He didn't…I don't think that he expected to come back."

That was when the tears started.

I turned away, finding it strangely difficult to swallow. "Let's see something else. Please. Anything else."

We were back at my house.

My parents, both looking lost, were sitting across the table from each other.

"Are we just bad parents?" my mom asked suddenly before starting as if she hadn't really meant to say it aloud.

My dad raised an eyebrow. "What brought this on?" he asked carefully.

My mom looked almost wistful. "Five years ago, did you ever think that it would end up this way? That we'd lose both of our children at nineteen?"

I winced. Only two years left, it seemed. I felt a sudden irrational surge of anger towards my older self for putting my parents through that. I felt a familiar layer of guilt settle over me because I knew that one day this would be me. What had happened? Did we die out there with Ax? Did my parents even know what had happened to me?

"We don't _know_ that Jake's gone," my dad pointed out.

"And we may never know," my mom said bitterly. "How much time will need to pass before we accept that he's dead or will we be waiting for him to come home for the rest of our lives?"

"Longer than a year," my dad said firmly. "You know what Z-Space is like. They might not have even reached the Blade Ship yet." The Blade Ship where Tom died remains unspoken, as does the fact that he died a snake and was probably either fed to a Taxxon or disposed of as waste.

"And when they do, what then? It's one little ship against an entire Blade Ship," my mom pointed out. "They can't possibly win."

"They couldn't possibly win before and yet Earth was saved all the same," my dad countered.

"Yes, because that worked out so well for them, didn't it?" my mom asked sarcastically.

"I think I know where this is coming from," my dad said slowly. "This isn't about Jake going off on a suicide mission, is it? I think we both know that he would have gone even if he had been perfectly well-adjusted after the war-"

"Which he wasn't," my mom interrupted. "He was hurting and guilty and depressed and we didn't help him."

But earlier they had been talking about therapy. Had they not followed up on that? Had they tried but I wouldn't hear of it? I didn't quite know what had happened to me or why I had made the decisions that I did but I do know that I would never have wanted them to blame themselves.

Was that how Tom and Rachel had felt about me?

"We did the best we could," my dad disagreed. "And I'd like to think that we _did_ help him. He just had some very serious problems and our support couldn't make all that go away. Maybe if he had sought help but he didn't want to and we couldn't force him to."

"_We didn't even notice_," my mom whispered, near tears.

My dad nodded. "It always comes back to that, doesn't it?"

My mom looked stricken. "One son became a slave and the other a battle-hardened general and we didn't even notice."

"What were we supposed to think? Yes, Tom was getting distant and then Jake started always being gone but they were teenagers. It was supposed to be normal," my dad said reasonably.

"It wasn't," my mom responded flatly.

"We know that _now_ but who would have looked at the distance, at the being gone, at the exhaustion and realized that aliens were not only real but were invading and Jake and Tom were caught up in that?" my dad demanded. "Jean, honey, you're expecting too much of yourself."

For a moment it looked like she was going to argue before she slumped abruptly. "You're probably right," my mom admitted at last. "But still, we should have thought that _something_ was up! Peter said that he used to worry that Marco had joined a gang."

"And what do you think would have happened if we did get worried? We would have had to have tried to intervene," my dad pointed out. "If we got in the Yeerk's way then we probably would have only gotten infested sooner and endangered Jake and the whole resistance. If we started paying too much attention to Jake then we might have compromised his ability to sneak off and fight and maybe even alerted Tom to the fact that something wasn't right."

"So you're saying that it was for the best that we were so blind?" my mom said, sounding incredulous.

My dad hesitated before nodding. "I am saying that. I know that it makes you feel like a horrible parent and to be honest sometimes I get that way, too. But as hard as it is to accept, everything depended on that."

"I never wanted them to think that this was their fault," I said hollowly. "I never thought that my…difficulties after the war would make them start questioning themselves. My dad's absolutely right; their not noticing was the best thing they could have done. The only thing, really."

Still, the spirit said nothing. I was starting to think that it never would.

"So…that's it then? It doesn't matter what I do because I'm just going to disappear and probably get myself killed in three years?" I demanded. "There's nothing to be done about it? And before that I never start 'living' again like Rachel said? What was the point of me surviving if I'm doomed to _that_?"

The words hit me harder than I thought they would.

What _was_ the point?

I'm not the self-destructive type so it seemed like there was only one way to fix that.

"Alright," I said quietly. "I think I get it."

I watched the world once more reform around me and this time I was back in my bedroom, back in my bed.

Had it been a dream?

I'd been saying that the entire time and yet somehow it was surprising to think that it was.

But that didn't really matter, did it? Because even dreaming it was still my subconscious telling me to get my act together.

Although I really should talk to Ax and see if Kelbrids are a real thing. If they are, it's only fair to warn him. Maybe it'll even be enough.

I felt…I don't even know. Not ecstatic but certainly better than I had before. I seem to recall old Scrooge being a bit happier. I feel kind of cheated actually that I'm not. But I guess something is better than nothing.

I laid in bed for a little while longer as I waited for my head to clear and to be properly awake. Once that was done, I got dressed and head downstairs.

My mom was cooking while my dad was emptying the dishwasher.

"Merry Christmas, Jake," my mom said brightly when she saw me.

I managed a smile myself. "Merry Christmas, Mom. Merry Christmas, Dad."

"Hey listen," I told them. "I was thinking that maybe we could stop over at Marco's today."

After all, if he'd follow me on a suicide mission once more (this time when the fate of the planet _wasn't_ at stake) then the very least that I could do was take time that I wouldn't have been spending doing anything important anyway and spending it with him.

My parents exchanged surprised but delighted looks.

"That's a wonderful idea, Jake," my dad said enthusiastically.

"And…" I trailed off.

My parents waited expectantly.

I didn't know why this was so hard to say. It was just a few simple words, that's all. I didn't really want to do it, true, but I didn't want that future to come to pass even more and so I had to make a choice. At this point it was worth a try, at least.

I took a deep breath and started again. "I think that I want to look into therapy. Maybe after the holidays you could recommend someone?"

I wasn't about to go back to Dr. Greyfield. I didn't care if it wasn't his fault that he couldn't help me because I was the one who couldn't tell him anything; I had bad memories of those sessions.

"Absolutely," my dad agreed, looking like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulder. "I know just the person, too."

I excused myself and headed back to my room. I had a cell phone now even if I never used it. Well, I'd use it now. It had been a year since I'd last dialed this number but I still knew it by heart. I probably always would.

"Hello?" Cassie answered on the first ring.

"Hi, Cassie," I said quietly.

There was a clanging noise like she'd dropped the phone. Was my calling her really such an unexpected event? I guess Rachel might have been right about that. Or Marco but I'm never going to tell _him_ that.

"I'm sorry," she said when she was back on the line. "Jake?"

"Yeah, it's me," I agreed.

"I haven't heard from you in a while," she said carefully.

"No, you haven't," I said, sighing heavily. "I've been…busy."

"I've been pretty busy, too," Cassie replied, either not realizing that I was lying or being too good to call me on it.

"Can I see you?" I asked her, trying not to sound too eager. "We can go out for coffee or something."

"Of _course_ we can," Cassie sound, a smile in her voice. "How does tomorrow work for you?"

"Tomorrow would be perfect," I said, smiling myself. "I'll meet you at your house at, say, three?"

"Three's good for me," Cassie confirmed. "And Jake? Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Cassie."

* * *

Even before we got there, I was glad that I had decided to go if only for my parents' reaction. I didn't realize that they'd been holding back for my sake but their enthusiasm at going to the house of a friend of _mine_ made that quite clear. Part of it, I suppose, was also the fact that I was actively 'showing an interest.'

It occurred to me when I rang the doorbell that I should have called first. But oh well, it was _Marco_. The day that I need to call before dropping by is the day that I know we've really become estranged. Besides, when was the last time Marco called me?

I had understood (from Marco's occasional musings about the matter) that he had hired a butler and was insisting on calling him Wetherbee so I hadn't been expecting to be greeted at the door by Marco himself.

"Jake?" he asked, shocked. He covered it quickly. "Ha! I _knew_ you'd come. No one can resist me for long!"

"Yes, that's exactly it," I deadpanned. "No, wait, I lied. I actually came because I was dying for a fire but it's too hot without any air conditioning."

Marco laughed. "Ah, you know me too well! Come in, come in. Mom! Dad! Jake's family came!" he called over his shoulder.

Eva and Peter appeared in the doorway.

"Steve, Jean, how good of you to join us," Eva said, smiling warmly at them. "Why don't you come this way? Marco's determined for this to be the best Christmas ever and ordered some of pretty much every kind of cookie you could think of."

"I thought I smelled something good," my dad said as he and my mom followed them into the kitchen.

That just left me and Marco.

It's not that guys are physically incapable of talking about their feelings, of course, it's that Marco and I might as well be. And frankly I already had a mushy enough dream in addition to talking to Cassie (which always gets mushy when we're not talking about killing things which, since the war is over, we wouldn't need to do. And come to think of it sometimes it got mushy even then).

"I didn't expect you to come," Marco said with carefully constructed indifference.

"Oh, was that a token invitation then?" I asked innocently. "Because if you want I can always lea-"

"Don't you dare!" Marco ordered. "I need someone on my side about the fireplace!"

As I laughed and allowed Marco to lead me to whatever cookie fetish he had going on, I considered that he might have a point. This certainly couldn't be half as good as any pre-war (or rather, pre-infestation) Christmas' but that didn't mean that it couldn't be pretty damn amazing. Far better than any of the ones I've had recently although that might just be damning it with faint praise.

Still, I had gotten a wake-up call of sorts even if I wasn't quite sure how that had come to be. I was worrying my parents less and I was going to – ugh – seek help. I was reaching out to my best friend and the girl that I loved and I might even be able to change the future.

My thoughts drifted to Tobias. Rachel seemed just as upset about what he was doing as what I was. Well, I was getting my life back on track – or attempting to – and she kind of had a point about guilt. If you can't escape it then you might as well do something with it.

I think I'm going to be paying him a visit soon.

It's the End so Review Please!


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